I’ve Got Doubts

It’s hard to tell people that
I’m getting over it,
When the only way
I can get to sleep
Is to picture myself
Flying with the wings
Of the Angels that
Failed to protect a
Smiling God.

You are 12. You’re at the library looking for some generic young adult fiction novel about a girl who falls for her best friend. Your dad makes a disgusted face. “This is about lesbians,” he says. The word falls out of his mouth as though it pains him. You check out a different book and cry when you get home, but you aren’t sure why. You learn that this is not a story about you, and if it is, you are disgusting.

You are 15. Your relatives are fawning over your cousin’s new boyfriend. “When will you have a boyfriend?” they ask. You shrug. “Maybe she’s one of those lesbians,” your grandpa says. You don’t say anything. You learn that to find love and acceptance from your family, you need a boyfriend who thinks you are worthy of love and acceptance.

You are 18. Your first boyfriend demands to know why you never want to have sex with him. He tells you that sex is normal and healthy. You learn that something is wrong with you.

You are 13. You’re at a pool party with a relative’s friend’s daughter. “There’s this lesbian in my gym class. It’s so gross,” she says. “Ugh, that’s disgusting,” another girl adds. They ask you, “do you have any lesbians at your school?” You tell them no and they say you are lucky. You learn to stay away from people.

You are 20. You have coffee with a girl and you can’t stop thinking about her for days afterwards. You learn the difference between a new friendship and new feelings for a person.

You are 13. Your mom is watching a movie. You see two girls kiss on screen. You feel butterflies and this sense that you identify with the girls on the screen. Your mom gets up and covers the screen. You learn that if you are like those girls, no one wants to see it.

You are 20. You and your friends are drunk and your ex-boyfriend dares you to make out with your friend. You both agree. You touch her face. It feels soft and warm. Her lips are small and her hands feel soft on your back. You learn the difference between being attracted to someone and recognizing that someone you care about is attractive.

You are 16. You find lesbian porn online. Their eyes look dead and their bodies are positioned in a way that you had never imagined. You learn that liking girls is acceptable if straight men can decide the terms.

You are 20. You are lying next to a beautiful girl and talking about everything. You tell her things that you don’t usually tell anyone. You learn how it feels not to want to go to sleep because you don’t want to miss out on any time with someone.

You are 15. Your parents are talking about a celebrity. Your dad has a grin on his face and says, “her girlfriend says that she’s having the best sex of her life with her!” You learn that being a lesbian is about the kind of sex you have and not how you love.

You are 18. You are in intro to women’s and gender studies. “Not all feminists are lesbians- I love my husband! Most of the feminists on our leadership team are straight! It’s just a stereotype,” the professor exclaims. You learn that lesbianism is something to separate yourself from.

You are 21 and you are kissing a beautiful girl and she’s your girlfriend and you understand why people write songs and make movies and stupid facebook statuses about this and time around you just seems to stop and you could spend forever like this and you learn that there is nothing wrong with you and you are falling in love.

You are 21. And you are okay.

a thing I wrote after arguing with an insensitive dude on facebook all day or Things Other People Taught me about Liking Girls (via samanticshift)
We could have had such a damned good time together."
“Yes,” I said, “Isn’t it pretty to think so?
Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises   (via goghst)

This is, by far, my favorite line from modern literature.

This is an apology letter to the both of us
for how long it took me to let things go.

Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye “When Love Arrives”


I’ll sprout wings,
     one day.
I’ll fly away,
     one day.
I’ll die this way,
     one day. 


That’s what I always was to you
an oversized hoodie
keeping you warm but never
holding you close enough.
I still sit on the second story
of this century old Tudor
smoking my menthols and
eating my candy but
saving the Snickers because
even after a 493 days it
doesn’t feel right eating
your favorite.

You’d always said you loved
that crunch, feeling things break.
The day after you broke things off
I took all the liquor bottles I’d
saved-up and threw them at a tree
it was the closest I’d felt to you,
feeling things break and shatter
because I wanted them to. 


I can’t say that you’re the reason that I’m afraid to go home
But I’m pretty sure one of your hairs is still circling around in my sink
It’s yours, because mine has never been that short.
Just like the drags you’d take from your Camels.
Holding it just long enough to feel the tingling in your toes.
And that’s what you were to me
breathless inhalation.

Turns to Stone

She forgot how to breathe
sometime around the moment
she couldn’t figure out where the
bruises on her thighs came from.